


Nemesis' Wheel

by Lancelotv01, tessakay



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender, vld - Fandom
Genre: Everyone's life is gonna get so fucked up, Greek setting, Lance is 16-18, Lance is Roman, Lance is the Prince of Athens, M/M, Major Character Injury, Secret Relationship, Shiro is 21-23, Shiro is Greek, Shiro is a warrior from Sparta, You've been warned, historical fiction fam, lots of drama ensured, mentions of various Greek gods, someone's gonna get hurt lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancelotv01/pseuds/Lancelotv01, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessakay/pseuds/tessakay
Summary: “Are you sure, your highness?” It’s whispered like a secret between them. Silence settles thickly in the atmosphere. Lance’s eyes slip closed, bathing in the comforting warmth of Shiro. The prince was always a one-’n-done man, but something grasps and claws its way to the front- a yearning. To belong; to be apart of whatever this man has carted with him to this festival. Lance wants to be a part of Shiro’s life.“Yes, I’m-” He abruptly looks up at Shiro, emotion boiling over. Everything rearing into overdrive.“I am so sure, I’ll swear it to the Gods.” He declares, shattering the crushing silence





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> SO IVE BEEN COLLABING WITH THIS GOD OF A WRITER TESSAKAY AND TOGETHER WE BIRTHED THE HISTORICAL FIC OF SHANCE. I HOPE YALL READ THE TAGS CAUSE OTHERWISE YOURE IN A FOR A SPIN. BUT HONESTLY MOST OF THIS IS JUST THEIR BLESSED WRITING AND THEYRE SO TALENTED IM CRYING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh u realize i can add notes too alSO SH
> 
> pls enjoy

The Greek Olympics are always a time of celebration, people from everywhere gather in Olympia every four years in merriment of Zeus, and to ensure the return of the sacred truce; a tense, and unpredictable treaty between Athens and Sparta that occurred in the months harboring the games.

For a mere several days, men from all over compete in several events, gradually becoming more and more difficult. The last event? Lance’s favorite.

Pankration. Hardly any rules. Of course, No one ever _died_.. Usually.

The festival also brought offerings, sacrifices, and prayers to the Gods. Bountiful food, and alcohol. A merry time, full of lots of partying.

Lance enjoyed the colosseum filled with jovality and amusement. He always grew apprehensive of the festival after the games.

Lance is a lithe, olive skinned prince. He travels far inland from Piraeus to attend the games every four years with his queen, and small circle of friends. He always wears an extravagant sapphire tunica, embroidered with gold and sapphire. Elaborate designs climbing up the short outfit, curling and twisting, giving the illusion of waves of gold rising from the seafoam. Gold armlets and bangles adorns his wrists. Large gold hoops hang delicately from his ears. Lance’s unusual blue eyes catch the attention of men and women across Greece, some even go as far to say he resembles a _god_. Lance often laughs these onlookers off, looking to his feet or the nearest banquet.

Despite the prince’s ever growing lethargy for the four-day festivities, the events have tediously snaked its way into his heart. Perhaps the new Spartan competitor that has dominated the wrestling portion the last few years has undoubtedly encouraged the process, and caught Lance’s eye. He was tall- Taller than the prince; who seems to cast shadow on all those around him. But, what really catches his eye is the warrior’s hair. It’s thick, and fluffy. It does not bare tight curls and a large beard that wrapped around most of the men’s faces. Lance wants nothing more than to feel it. Find that his fingers did not get caught in the messy untamed curls of most Spartan men and women.

Is he allowed to wear his hair like so? If there is one thing the Prince admires, it is anything extraordinary.

“What is it?” Hunk asks. His larger friend stands next to him on the Podium, a large marble terrace where many powerful men and women, including the Emperor, and the Roman Senators lavishly enjoy the events.

Hunk holds a platter of hors d'oeuvres that he’d “discreetly” been taking. Lance doesn’t mind, his larger than life friend was welcome to his share.

“That warrior.. he is a colton, right?” Hunk squints to locate the large man waiting patiently for his turn.

“Ah yes. He is, what about it?” The dark-skinned man asks, turning to his dazzled prince. Lance hums lustrously, shrugging his shoulders to accommodate the sly grin playing on his lips.

“Nothing. He just- doesn’t look like a Spartan. He is kind.” The prince mutters, dark eyelashes casting large shadows down his cheeks as the sun bears heavily on their shoulders.

“How can you tell?” Hunk frowns, leaning closer to the edge.

“I cannot be sure.” Lance observes his fighting, it’s very unlike the Spartan brutality he had becke partial to. Albeit, he is as intuitive and stoic as most.

“Call it.. “ _Prince’s intuition_ ”.”

Hunk would easily put it past himself to argue with his companion and moreover, his prince. They watch as the warrior grapples and pins his opponent to the hard earth. The audience comes alive with rioting cheers for the victorious Spartan.

  
Lance finds himself at the edge of the Podium, clapping excitedly for the fairer skinned man. His bangles and earrings dance in his elation. Never has a match intrigued the prince so much.

  
The festival erupts into full swing as the events come to a close. Lance is far more elated for this part. Large crowds of men and women all gawking at him, waiting on his hand and foot to compliment his skin, or ask his hand. He maneuvers from circle to circle, chatting up women and men alike.

Generally elites keep to themselves, however Lance is always willing to grace the crowds with his affection, and mingle freely. His time is ticking. Eventually, he’ll have to marry and take over the large city-state of Athens.

Tonight though, Lance decides no better time than to take a leap. He finds himself among the pack of Spartans loitering in close quarters with each other. Lance can feel disapproving stares, but he squares his shoulders and grounds himself. Gracefully traversing the crowd. The truce provided equal opportunity for each city-state to enjoy the games, but it never claimed to guarantee amability between each other.

“Warrior, you are the one who won pankration?” Lance springs into action, setting sights on the tall, fair skinned man. He is clearly older, with many flaws upon his skin, the most prominent being the one across his nose. The scars show age, much like his sharp features; tired—yet soft, eyes and a matured physique. Lance would be lying if he said he had not watched the man exclusively during the games. He’s at least five years older older than Lance, on the other hand, was not yet of age. Hence why he’d averted courtship with ease up to this point. Many royal children married out as soon as they could, at a soft age of 13, but were not obligated until 18. Lance was easily pushing 16 and still unwed. Lance prefers older men, enjoying the seasoned maturity and balance to his childish and buoyant ways.

The man looks down at Lance.  
“Yes… your highness.” He greets with a playful smile that reaches stormy grey hues.

He’s _nothing_ like the Spartan men surrounding him.

“Ah, so you discuss me.” Lance chuckles, pleased. If Hunk were here, he’d shake his head at Lance’s obvious flirting. It helps to know your enemies better than yourself, or so his mother had always thought. “What of you, champion?”

“Sachihiro. But I am regarded more commonly as Shiro.” He leans in slightly, towering over Lance.  
The novelty of the Roman prince had mostly worn off, and the Spartans began to chat and dine reservedly, occasionally watching the exchange between the champion and the prince.

“So… humor me, Shiro..” Lance draws out his name, scraping a nail on the shiny gold breast plate still strapped heavily to Shiro. His earrings glint in the dim light.

The sun is setting, and servants are lighting large torches and pits for light.

“Will you be leaving tomorrow? Surely, you have someone waiting for you..” Lance teases, laying out his cards. He watches Shiro expectantly with light blue eyes.

The Spartan rubs the back of his neck, glancing up to survey the surroundings. No one seems to be paying any mind to them.

“What are you implying, your highness?” He grins cautiously, raising a thick eyebrow in question. Lance chuckles lowly, shifting one side closer to Shiro. The warrior proves efficient in keeping Lance’s interest.

“I’m implying that I’d be interested in keeping your bed warm,” The jackpot is watching the Spartan blush and fold into himself bashfully.

“P-perhaps.” Shiro clears his throat, attempting to regain what little control he had over the conversation. The ball was in Lance’s court from the get-go.

“My quarters or yours?” Lance is quick to remain one step ahead. His words swim in Shiro’s head, and trip over his thoughts.

“E-excuse me?” Lance bites his tongue, refraining from laughing at the warrior’s modest nature.

“My quarters or yours? Or you could always just take me over the spread right now.” Shiro’s face flushes crimson, watching Lance step closer. His hand firm on his gold breastplate.  
“You're too serious! I am only playing with you.” Shiro deflates, but remains quite flustered.

“You shouldn't joke about that, your highness. One may take you seriously.” He finally manages to recollect his confidence.

“Would the ‘someone’ you speak of be yourself? I certainly do hope.” Lance reverberates.  
“Call me Lance.” He adds without withdraw.

Shiro stands agape, like a fish out of water. Lance revels in the Spartan, his heart thrumming painfully in his chest. It wasn’t often Lance found someone he’s genuinely enjoyed the presence of.

“Why don't we… abandon this party in favor of more intimate setting?” Lance offers enticingly, moving his hand from the solid breast plate to Shiro’s bare arm. He can feel tense muscle flex. Lance’s ears feel hot, and he bites his lip. Expectant eyes watch the Champion, sultry and illuminating in the flames light. Long lashes sweeping with every flutter of his eyes.

Shiro struggles to come to terms with the opportunity presented. The Prince of Athens— the same beautiful, charismatic prince whose persona is known throughout Greece. Here, flirting with him. A mere Navarch of the Sparta army.

Lance backs away from Shiro, leaving him cold in his prolonged silence. He beckons.

“ _Molon labe_ , fierce warrior.” The prince titters, leaving Shiro starstruck in his wake.

Shiro stands. Dumbfounded, yet— enraptured. He prays, and summons up all of his confidence. Shiro struts after Lance, following tan skin beautifully tangled in sapphire.

Lance struggles to keep his hands off the taut fabric strewn across the combatant. The two tease and dance a familiar dance as they taper away from the large crowd. Many knowing eyes watch with smiles, and quiet eyes. The two don't get far from the banquet, but settle for an alley, music from the festival plays softly here.

Lance finds himself pinned to masonry walls by large, creamy hands. An elated giggle escapes his lips, as blue eyes dart to rosey lips and farther, meeting stormy gray eyes.

Immediately upon meeting eyes, Shiro is advancing hesitantly.  
Athenians and Spartans were commonly seen as enemies, a relationship of this aptitude could cause a rift between the delicate balance of the city-states. Especially since Shiro lacked royalty or stability.

Lance’s lids fall over baby blues as he meets the soldier half way. Much to Lance’s expectation, Shiro’s lips are dry and chapped, they scrape against his plush and moistened lips. Shiro vaguely tastes of dust and sweat. He is still gentlemanly, timid and firm as he boxes Lance in against the stone wall. Calloused hands find their way to small, sapphire clad hips as soft, unworked fingers trace over faded scars. The kiss is fleeting, but the electricity Lance feels after it has him chasing Shiro’s lips with a hot puff of breath. Shiro is more than willing, graciously leaning back in to devour the sweetness Lance was offering him. He tastes of wine, and smells of flowers.

They clumsily dance with teeth and tongue. It’s not the best kiss Lance has experienced, but its sending fire through his veins and none of it matters anymore. They part with labored breaths, and firm grips. Shiro holds Lance like he’ll disappear.

“This...is wrong.” Shiro whispers against his lips, eyes averted in guilt. Lance’s eyes fall to his sandals, worrying his lip. He ghosts his fingers down Shiro’s forearms, catching his hands when he releases Lance’s hips. The gesture makes Lance’s heart leap.

Lance looks up at Shiro, gaining his attention. He smiles warmly.  
“Then be wrong for a while longer.”  
Spartans were rumored to be impulsive and brute creatures, but Shiro is plagued hesitation and anxiety with every sinful breath, and touch. Lance aches to kiss the worry lines away; it scares him.

“Are you sure, your highness?” It’s whispered like a secret between them. Silence settles thickly in the atmosphere. Lance’s eyes slip closed, bathing in the comforting warmth of Shiro. The prince was always a one-’n-done man, but something grasps and claws its way to the front- a yearning. To belong; to be apart of whatever this man has carted with him to this festival. Lance wants to be a part of Shiro’s life.

“Yes, I’m-” He abruptly looks up at Shiro, emotion boiling over. Everything rearing into overdrive.  
“I am so sure, I’ll swear it to the Gods.” He declares, shattering the crushing silence.

  
Shiro’s astonishment turns to a soft smile, caressing the back of Lance’s neck affectionately.  
“There will be no need for that. Your word is quite sufficient, your highness.”

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> get rekt  
> sincerely,  
> tessakay

Only four hours passed before Lance was seated at his large desk in his newly transported silk robes, ink dripping slowly back into the canister.  
“Shiro. I pray this letter makes safe passage to you.”

Lance never held fast to the pleasures of companionship, or commitment. But somehow Shiro had become the forefront of an ever changing list of things Lance did, and didn't do: Like smiling, or feeling his heart fluttering away when Hunk would return with scrolls and smiles.

The letters started out slow, formal greetings and hesitant flirting. Over time, the lovebirds stretched their wings, and a new friendly informality came into play.

Lance took great pleasure in writing to Shiro, telling him of his days as prince, or to tell how much he loves the Spartan’s words of affection when he receives them. Two years of subtle courting, and no one but Lance’s persons knew.

Hunk—may the Gods favor him, had been against Lance’s affairs. He didn't want to be a witness to something so troubling, yet he still brought Lance’s letters to another Spartan in close keeping to Shiro— Keith.  
He would then provide safe passage into Sparta, and to Lance’s awaiting Shiro.  
Hunk had grown fond of seeing Lance smile when he returned with Shiro’s love notes to the Roman prince. His eyes would light up, and he’d smile so wide and graciously. His dimples would sink in, and he'd wrap his arms around Hunk and kiss his cheeks before slipping away to his room.

Hunk can't remember the last time he saw Lance this happy.

 

“You are sure he’s the one?” Hunk asks, watching Lance meticulously write on the curled papyrus. He never once looks up, but a bashful smile graces his lips.

“More than anything. I’d give up everything for him.” Lance says animatedly, tan cheeks turning a couple shades darker. The room is filled with the sound of Lance’s pen scraping against the papyrus.

“Why don't you wed him, then? You’re 18 now.” Hunk pitches, as he waits patiently for the prince’s letter.

The writing pauses. Lance looks suddenly crestfallen. He clears his throat, and continues to write, pulling up his finely tuned smile. “Please, my parents would have a heart attack if I brought a Spartan into our home.” Lance wouldn't want anything more than to take the man as his husband and future king, but a Spartan lover was far out of the Athenian’s radar. Having such a brute in their city of intelligence and philosophy?

No way.

“Seems like a good idea to me.” Hunk mutters, a vicious chuckle escaping Lance.

“Pride is a sinful fool, and sadly my parents are the jesters.” Hunk scoffs, rolling his eyes at the dramatic prince.

“You had to get it from someone.” He remarks with no bite to his words. The prince wasn't as egoistic as his parents in most cases.

“I resent that.” Lance huffs with a subtle smile. He signs the letter in large, arching ideographs that resembles extravagant, turbulent waves. His signature.  
“I will overlook the statement since your help has been salutary.” belatedly, an uneasy silence immediately sinking in.

Hunk feels a puncture in his chest. Good going.

Lance sets his pen in the ink, and sits back. He stretches long, markless skin bathes in the warm sunlight.

“It should be dry soon, I am going to bathe.” Lance says casually, getting up from his spot and leaving his room in favor of the privacy of his lavish bathroom. The woven curtains swoop shut, and Lance unrobes. Water is heated with fire, and brought through the aqueducts in this palace, one of the only few with warm water.

The large stone bathtub fills as he sinks in. A sigh escaping plump lips as he lets all of the emotion and confusion ebb away for an hour or so.

 

* * *

 

“He won’t give it a chance, Keith- I- I don’t know what I am suppose to tell him. His parents will be searching for a suitor soon, if not already. He is 18, and still unwed.” Hunk rambles, handing off a neatly tied roll of papyrus to the lean fair skinned man standing next to him. His hair is ebony, and long, and wavy. He’s light and dark and scary and sweet all at once.

“Bring up marriage to Shiro, and when we meet again, tell me how he reacts. If he cares for Lance, he will act quickly or I’m afraid Lance won’t be his anymore.” Hunk says, looking pleadingly down at Keith.

He wrings his hands, and Keith can’t say no. It’s too much, he’s too much.  
“Yeah.. I’ll tell him. Safe passage, my dear friend.” Keith says unevenly, smiling affectionately to Hunk.  
Hunk lights up, and waves. He leaves the rendezvous with a newfound bounce in his step.

He knew Lance didn’t know the first thing about being a go-getter. Everyone handed him whatever he wanted, and themselves whether he asked or not. He was a prince. He never had to work for himself, motivate and persevere.

Only the Gods knew how that would change.

 

Keith couldn't believe the theatrics of their relationship, and how taboo it all was. He knew Shiro was ingenious, his ranking alone was proof, but love made smart men fools. To be in such matinee with a prince of an enemy country no less. Keith did not see this benign being kept discreet for much longer.

His trek back through Sparta is mundane and nothing so much as the position of a leaf has seemed to change since he rode this trail only a week ago to deliver a letter to Hunk. The consistent writings to one another were growing tediously annoying. Keith would demand Shiro find a new errand boy if not for the circumstances of this relationship.

He reaches their shared abode by the end of the day, horse puffing and worn from the long ride. Shiro lights the evening lanterns whilst anxiously awaiting Keith’s return.

“I'm back.” Keith vocalizes his entrance, pulling the heavy cloak he wore when traveling with Shiro’s letters off his tired shoulders. Shiro greets him at the threshold with an expectant smile, and excitement teeming in his eyes. Keith almost scoffs.

“Welcome. Did you see Hunk?” He asks. Keith rolls his eyes, face turning red as he hands over the lover’s papyrus. Yes of course he met him. Is what he wanted to shout.

“Y-yeah..” Keith clears his throat, regaining his composure.  
“He asked me to tell you something about Prince Lance.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, and seats himself at their kitchen bench. He busies himself with untying the blue silk Lance always fastens his letters with.

Keith ruffles his own hair, feeling the awkwardness slowly seep into the silence. He sits across from Shiro, leaning over the table.

“Hunk said that Lance is now 18. He cannot elude marriage forever, Shiro.” Keith says, eyes daring Shiro to face him. He waits for the older man’s reaction.

Shiro’s heart twists into something ugly at the mere thought of Lance within the grasps of another lover. Wed to them, no less. Shiro longed to be at his side more than any need he could have.

He could imagine long tan limbs, entangled in the hand-painted imported sheets as the young sun beams in from the drawn curtains. The rays of light seeping in would have nothing on the prince’s smile. Endless waves in his eyes, and the throws of sleep still clutched tightly to him. The two settle into a cozy silence together, basking in the presence of one another.

Maybe in another life.

“I have faith that Lance will be able to convince his parents. I have heard many kind stories of the King and Queen of Athens.” Shiro quips, unrolling Lance’s scroll with great care. Keith spares him a cynical look, but plants his hands flat on the table, leaning over more.

“Were the stories ones told from Lance?” He inquires accusingly. Shiro keeps his cool under the pressure, but is a terrible liar.

“P-Perhaps they have, but I trust in my Prince of blue.” Shiro’s reply solid, and final. Keith takes the hint.

“Shiro… I just think you should not leave this in the hands of a man who is no wiser than me. He does not seem very mature. He may have good intentions to be with you, but what if he cannot? He is a prince… Not a King. He does not have as much power as you want to believe.” Shiro shakes his head, favoring the neatly written scroll his lover had taken time to write for him. He would hear no more of it.

“Keith, instead of sniffing into my affairs, you should worry about your own?” Shiro smirks vindictively, causing the male across from him to gape and turn red. “You speak highly of Lance’s lackey… “Hunk” was it?”

“Hunk is kind, but I have no intentions of favoring a relationship similar to yours.” Keith snips, before standing from his seat. Keith leaves Shiro to his ridiculous scroll in a flurry of embarrassment.

Shiro always knew the fastest way to rid of Keith was simply to shift the attention to him.

“To my dearest, Shiro,  
I pray this letter makes safe passage to you, much like my previous writings. I have done my best until now to elude Marriage, though my parents consistently push for a merger with nearby city-states. I do not know which, as of yet. I hope they mean well in this decision.  
I will write to you when I am more knowledgeable.  
Of course, I can only think of you, my love.  
I await your exciting news.  
Till next time, my dear Champion.  
Lance.”

Nicknames never stuck to Shiro, but he couldn’t shake the Prince’s. The way the smooth words rolled off his tongue to entice the Spartan man.

Shiro collects his papyrus and ink, beginning his letter.

 

* * *

 

Lance is jostled awake the next morning by anxiously sweaty and large hands. They attempt to raise him from his death-like sleep.

“Lance, wake. Your parents wish to speak with you!” Hunk presses as he continues to agitate the smaller male. Lance groans, clutching at the last heavy grasps of sleep.

“What could they want..” He growls into his pillow.

“Lance, it would be wise to hurry. They are quite unpredictable.” Hunk says.

The Prince pulls himself out of bed, stretching long. Hunk opens the door for an awaiting maid.  
“I will inform them of your presence.” Hunk says, leaving Lance to his servant.

His hair is tamed,—only to be ruffled again by Lance afterwards.—and he is dressed in a tunica in similar kinship to his festival ones. Lance finds this strange.

The material is a dark, royal purple with simplistic gold embroidered edges. The shoulder pieces are held together by a ornate piece much like the ones women would wear.

His jewelry is meticulously picked, extravagant but minimalistic. Bronze armbands, and long earrings that fall gracefully to his shoulders in strands of bronze.

He is quickly ushered out the door, to the thrones.

He's greeted by his elder sister Allura first, she’s dressed vaguely similar to him though her tunica falls gracefully to the floor. The cream fabric complements her dark skin and gold jewelry that adorns fine skin. Her eyes are lighter and hold far more wisdom than Lance had ever seen previously.

“Good morning, Allura.” He greets with a drawn out yawn, the elder sibling laughs, and shakes her head at Lance’s unruly appearance.

“Good morning, Lance. Nice to see you up early..” She mocks. Her accent is vaguely stronger than Lance’s adapted speech. There’s something more behind her smile.

“Hm, very funny. What is going on?” Allura gives a small shrug at the mention, a rather contradictory smirk on her lips.

“They called for me as well, shall we go together?” She offers, guiding Lance to the foyer of the large castle-like temple. The two are awaited by both parents. Eyes expectant, and diplomatic. Their mother is a fair, and tall. Striking eyes, and long dark hair falling in straight curtains around her flawless skin. Her eyes are dark, and soft. Her soul a fiery bull; let nothing stand in her way. She was truly a force of nature in the kingdom. She ran the meetings, she commanded the cavalry.

Their father was nearly her polar. He was timid, and malleable. There wasn't a room the king could enter without being noticed, though he generally tried to keep to himself. He sported an unruly mop of wavy blonde hair. His eyes are dark and endless, his skin a deep caramel shade. Lance and Allura both gain the trait of dark skin from him, but only Allura inherited his thick blonde thick hair. Something about the king always seemed… knowing. As if there wasn't a secret in Athens the king didn't savvy.

It made Lance uneasy. Could his father see right through him?

“My children, how have you slept?” The queen says. Her voice filling the room. Both children smile up at their parents respectively.

Something wasn't quite right. Normally their mother wouldn't be so courtly with them if the situation didn't call for it.

“Quite well. I’m sure I speak for the both of us.” Allura voices, her tone vaguely similar to that of their mom’s.

“Good.” The woman finally cracks a warm smile, a familiar one to the two kids. She winks at them, and clears her throat.  
“We are all excited for this day. It is official, that our Lance has finally reached 18. We have allowed you to remain without a husband until now.” Lance’s heart sinks into his stomach, he holds his composure firm.  
“It has come to our attention, that we must bring things in our own hands. We have found a Prince interested in your hand. The Prince Lotor of Thebes has graciously agreed to unite our armies in return for your hand.” Lance feels his resolve crumbling. He looks up his mother, who stares resolute down at him.

Lance’s eyes are full of disbelief as he stares at his parents. He feels his heart ram against his chest at the information provided. Though he finds it odd his parents even mentioned the unification of their armies.

Athens is a place of ever growing knowledge, and art. Though their navy is strong, their ground forces are lacking. Their mother had no problem with this, until recently. Lance can't help but find it to be the beginning stage of a conflict with a nearby city-state.

“Who are we going to attack?” He asks accusingly. His mother folds her hands together.

“Until you take this throne, that is not your concern, my son.” She gripes viciously. Lance looks down, biting his tongue.

Allura’s hand settles on his back comfortingly.  
“He will be coming tomorrow. You will meet with the marriage advisor that day. You will be married in two weeks time.” She says with ultimate finality.

Lance raises his chin defiantly, jerks away from Allura and excusing himself.

The queen’s shoulders sag once the doors fall closed once again. She looks weary.  
“Thank you, Allura. You may go.” She says with a small smile.  
The king stands besides his wife with contentedness. Allura could only imagine the betrayal Lance was feeling. How his free and outgoing soul felt so helpless and trapped.

Sadly, the marriage was all for the sake of revenge, the Monarchs had plans for the military support. The Roman prince from Mykonos had chosen to make a fool of the royal Athenian family. Degrading their heir to nothing more than a rat with Greek habits in the eye of the public. It was enough to cause an exchange of hostile letters between the kingdoms, Lance’s parents were not to let their family be talked down by such a filthy man who was willing to relinquish their daughters’ hand in favor of debasing their son.  
The world of royalty and the outside could never truly know what happened behind each other’s closed doors.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> strap in buds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bc this is co-created, dont expect real chapter summaries lmao. keep you on your toes or some shiz

“They’ve arranged my marriage!” Lance announces, voice cracking as the emotion finally starts to wash over him.   
He doesn't cry, or break down. 

Hunk envelops in him a warm hug, it's comforting and overwhelmingly grounding.   
Eventually they part. Hunk remains close to Lance, watching him with worried dark amber eyes. 

“He’s a prince from Thebes.. We’re going to war, Hunk.” Lance says, feeling the fear begins to rampage through his veins.   
He must have gone pale, because Hunk grips his arm, and guides him towards his bed. 

“There’s only one city-state we would go to war with, Hunk.” Lance whispers. His hands are trembling, and Hunk’s arms are back around his small frame. 

“That’s not true. There are many City-states which we could conquer.” Hunk tries to console his friend with a soft smile, rubbing his back. 

“But which one would we most likely siege?” Lance groans, his thoughts whirling around inside his skull faster than a Greek mustang.   
“Sparta is the only civilization that intimidates Athens,” Lance gasps softly before abruptly launching from his bed. Earrings clanging softly, he rushes for a fresh sheet of papyrus.  
“I need to warn Shiro. He has to know about ever-” Hunk is laying a reassuring hand on his friend’s bicep, and Lance goes quiet. All is silent; Lance’s trembling seemed to have disturbed the silence it was so thick. 

“Lance. Be calm. We cannot be sure we will go to war. How often is it our calvary leaves Athens?” The question provokes Lance’s rationality against his will. 

“If you send word of impending chaos- Of which was never deemed definite—They may decide to launch an attack first. If the Gods’ will is not war, we could be the very reason one begins.” 

Lance sinks into his chair, eyes trained on his nice sandals. 

“You’re right.” Lance admits gently resting his pen back onto the desk.   
His pounding heart does not cease.  
“Shiro must know of the marriage.” He whispers. His actions do not support his words; Lance does not wish to tell his lover of this forced marriage that will uproot Lance from his home, and toss him into a foreign place to which he is expected to call his own. 

Thebes was far from Athens, and even further from his lover. The journey to Sparta would take at least two days by horse. In addition Lance would be unknowing of the servantry, he wouldn't know who to trust to deliver the letter discreetly. 

“If you wish to tell him,” Hunk gives his arm a squeeze before releasing. He leaves the Prince to mull over the options laid out before him. 

Keith won’t be expecting a letter until the new week, and by then he would not have time to receive his love’s returning letter.   
Lance writes a letter, that will never reach Shiro’s hands. 

 

There is a rough knock at the door. 

The door creaks open to reveal a short… man?  
Their hair is unruly and strawberry, skin pale and warm. Only a few shades shy of Shiro’s nearly ivory complexion. 

Lance is hardly awake; stirring in his bed as the sun had just begun to creep over the horizon. 

“Prince of Athens. I am Kepa. You will be expected to participate in the ceremonies leading to your betrothal. We start today.” She states flatly. Lance is overwhelmed by the intensity of this woman. He tumbles out of bed to wrap himself in a robe and greet her. 

The small woman wears a flowery green tunica. It flows barely past her knees, clasped on both shoulders securely. Her eyes dewy, and golden. With deep amber undertones like Hunk’s. 

“Kepa.. Stone?” Lance asks, raising an eyebrow. The woman scoffs, setting down many papyrus on the lavish bed. 

“Katie will do, your highness.” She replies bitterly. 

“Now. First, you must be presentable. Get a servant in here and dress. Meet me in the Throne Hall.” She demands, before ending her brief meeting with Lance. 

The tanned prince stares at the door in disbelief. Had that woman just commanded him? Anger boils under his skin, but a ruffled and hurried maid derails his thoughts. 

She dresses him extravagantly once again, this time in a long tunica that reaches his ankles. Its strapped up with foreign, ornate pieces that sported an unfamiliar insignia. The back was low, showcasing the flawless skin and shapely curve of Lance’s back, almost scandalously low. 

It’s a deep mocha, embroidered with deep blues and bronze bangles. He is adorned once again with large bronze hoops in his ears, and a breathtaking neck piece. It’s fitted to the shape of his neck, resting snugly against his shoulders and dipping down to his collarbones. It’s carved and painted with similar blues, a gem as the centerpiece. 

Lance feels overwhelmed. His betrothed was only coming to talk with his family of the marriage, wasn't he? Surely there was no need for such extravagances. 

Begrudgingly, Lance does meet Katie in the Throne Hall. She’s tapping her foot impatiently, carrying with her old, worn tablets. They must’ve been engraved centuries ago. 

Lance is seated in his mother’s chair—Much to his displeasure; his father’s chair was of much higher standing. 

“I need to know what you know, Prince of Athens.” Katie begins, settling on her knees before the throne.   
“Tell me of your families’ ceremonies.” Lance arches a brow, and shrugs his shoulders. His fingers are twitchy, and he plays with the hem of the expensive fabric covering his body.

Katie releases a sigh of discontent at the response.   
“Only the gods know you are as useless as you are beautiful.” She mutters, lifting a ancient tablet from her collection and handing them to the prince. 

“What are these?” Lance asks bitterly, feeling the dirty, heavy clay in his soft hands. Lance was never one for reading albeit Thales of Miletus and his proposition on the solar eclipse were a rare exception.

And of course, his beloved Shiro’s letters. Lance’s heart flips. 

“They are your wedding ceremonies, crafted by Hymenaios and Eros. It may be wise to study them.” Katie explains, before digging through another pile and producing a handwritten papyrus.   
“You must not violate these traditions, or risk your marriage, and your father’s honor.” She continues. Lance worries his lip, quickly scanning the neat writings. 

“Is the Prince of Thebes not going to attend this suffering with me? I am not the only one that has to learn.” He gripes,crossing his legs and letting his posture crumble in attempt to get comfortable.   
“It's awfully rude to keep me waiting.” Katie’s patience deems unwavering against Lance’s insistent pestering. 

Even so, Katie had prayed as the kin of Allura, he would be as graceful and easy to entertain. Unfortunately, the gods had chosen to disregard her. 

“Prince Lotor will be with us in due time. We shall go over these practices together. May the Gods aide you.” 

Together, Katie leads the Prince through traditions and manners. He’d learn quickly Katie had no tolerance for mistakes. The Prince had endured his share of correcting swats and jabs. 

Surprisingly, the prince was swift, and learned quickly. 

“You are assuming the role of a woman in this marriage. You will expected to uphold your duties. Luckily, your social standing, and your future husband’s standing has made this task quite easy for you. You will not be tasked with the cooking, and cleaning. Or even the sewing and weaving. But you will be responsible for raising children.” Katie explains, sitting across from Lance. The prince wrings his hands. 

“You’re an intelligent prince, but you mustn't speak out of turn, or go out into the city without just reason, or your husband. You should be accustomed to these rules.” 

Lance’s heart rests in his stomach. Nothing about this marriage was what he had wanted. He would sit in a home far away from his own, and only see his sister on occasion. He would not be able to see Shiro, or write him. Oh, how he missed his lover. 

“Will I be able to take concubines?” Lance blurts, leaning forward.   
Katie raises an eyebrow. “That is up to you, and your husband.” She replies hesitantly, carefully choosing her words. 

 

It is late in the evening, and dinner is being prepared when news of Lotor’s arrival spreads. 

Lance, along with Hunk and Allura are gathered in the throne room alongside their parents. Lance stands front and foremost with his father at his side. 

Allura smiles softly from besides her mother, clad in a soft champagne pink tunica far less extravagant than Lance’s. 

The anticipation makes Lance want to burst. A large, dark man is the first to appear. His eyes are dark, and malevolent. They send cold chills down Lance’s back. 

He’s flanked by an armor clad man—His general. And a slender, a kinly dark man. His tunica is a deep, royal purple that flows to his knees. His feathers are sharp, but most strikingly, is long blonde hair that is elaborately braided down his back. 

Lance would be lying if he said Prince Lotor was not beautiful in his own right. But fear wrung through Lance’s insides. He had to marry that man. He would be expected to listen to his every beck and call. 

His mind wanders back to the embarrassing lecture he’d endured about the blessings of Eros. 

The general is followed by several servants, burdened with elaborate foods, and fabrics. Gifts for Lance’s father. 

The King’s benevolence is striking against King Zarkon’s malevolence as they meet eye to eye. 

“I greatly apologize for the wait. We had a few mishaps on the journey here.” He grumbles. The King simply waves.   
“No need for formality, for this marriage makes us clansmen! Let us discuss over a meal. You all must be hungry.” He speaks. For once, Lance’s mother is quiet, and timid. Her eyes never snuff the raging fire ready to burn whoever it deemed. 

Lotor is seated across from Lance, his sister and mother elsewhere until the men had finished dining.   
The Patriarchs discuss various topics amongst themselves, hunched over. 

Lance and Lotor eat in silence, encouraged by the Prince. 

Lotor is tall; much taller than Shiro, and built akin to a warrior. Lance would always favor his lover’s flawed skin and defined muscles over Lotor’s. 

His skin is dark like Lance’s, without flaw. He smiles when he catches Lance’s eye, and Lance looks back at his food indignantly. 

“My prince, you have not said a word to me since my arrival. Perhaps you are upset with me?” Lotor murmurs to Lance, excluding their fathers from the conversation. His voice is smooth and enticing. Lance shakes his head. 

“No. I am not. For lack of better meaning, I am distressed.” By you. He responds into the hardly touched food before him. He has yet to meet the deep, golden gaze yearning for his attention. 

“I apologize. Surely you are excited to see me?” Lotor smiles coyly, Lance bites his tongue. He prays the Gods give him the will to restrain the remarks boiling in the back of his throat. He nods. His earrings dangle, and his body is stiff. Lotor visibly frowns at the action, wanting more than just a “yes husband” spouse in his home. 

Lotor had taken a personal interest in Lance. He was enthralled by the stories glading all over Greece of a god like prince with eyes of sapphire.   
He had heard rumors of the prince being fierce. Like cool, thundering waves on a quiet beach. Loud; Beautiful; Terrifying. 

Lotor had met many elites but none of them amused Lotor the way the grand tales of the Athenian Prince had. Just standing in the room he was the centerpiece; All eyes on him.   
But Lotor took notice of a wilting flower in a beautiful bouquet. There was something imbalanced about the prince. He was not a thing like the stories he’d heard of the force of nature, commanding everyone’s attention. 

Allura takes notice of Lance’s lackluster. She excuses herself from her mother’s side away from the table. She carries with her the vase of water. 

She refills glasses, leaning into Lance’s ear.   
“Why don’t you show the Prince around?” Allura scolds, smiling politely to the Prince across the table. 

She kicks Lance under the table, rousing the Prince. He smiles to Lotor, not missing a beat. 

“Are you done eating, your highness?” Lance asks. The prince grunts a response, and they excuse themselves.   
Lotor quickly takes his rightful spot at Lance’s side. 

The two stroll a while through the large hallways. Lance makes a comment on something ever so often in a soft, practiced tone.   
Lotor attempts to reach for Lance’s hand. He is ruffled when the small prince withdraws his hands as if he had been burned. 

“Do you not wish to hold hands with your future husband?” Lotor questions accusingly, raising an eyebrow. There’s a trace of understanding in his eyes, and upturn on his lips. Lance tenses before dropping his gaze. He worries his lip. 

“Of course not. I was just surprised.” He mutters back in response. Eventually, he reaches for Lotor’s hand. The man accepts it warmly. Lacing their fingers together gently. 

The engaged pair almost make it back to the dining hall before Lance’s father finds them in a rush. His eyes widen.   
“Prince Lotor. I was sure you knew the rules of engagement.” He says accusingly. Lance cannot hide a wide grin: His father looked comical with his hands on his hips, towering over the two with forced intimidation. His eyes sparkle with humor, quite contrast to the demeanor he intended to portray. 

Lotor chuckles softly, releasing Lance’s hand in favor of bowing to the King.   
“My deepest apologies. I was entirely too entranced by Lance to say no to his invitation.” He says, sweeping an arm around Lance’s waist. 

The King’s eyes widen, straightening out his beard as he mulled over what Lotor had just said.   
“What invitation?” He asks, a serious tone settling in full force this time. 

“Tour of the castle, father. Please. You should have more faith in my decisions. I am now in charge of your military.” Lance speaks out freely for the first time since Lotor’s arrival. His ears are red at the implication.

His voice is assured, confident and loud. Lotor watches enthusiastically.   
This was the prince that took Greece by storm. 

Lance’s father sighs, herding them along back to the hall.   
“I suppose you are correct. Come along now. Your mother is in a fit and your presence is deathly crucial.” 

Hunk was entirely absent from Lance’s life shortly after he was engaged.   
Being Lance’s personal servant, he was burdened with prepping all of the Prince's belongings for travel, arranging his wedding gifts, ceremonies and aiding the chefs on Lance’s favorite extravagant feasts. 

With the wedding only rolling closer and closer, he was up to his neck in work. His only comfort was his place besides Lance when they moved to Thebes. 

Lance had fought nail and tooth to take Hunk with him, and ultimately, Lotor’s desire to please Lance had concreted the decision in Lance’s favor. 

 

Two hours ago, Keith stood impatiently for Hunk’s arrival. Now, he sat slumped over on a stone, drawing in the dirt with a stick. Hunk was never this late.   
Keith kept acknowledgement to the time ticking by. The slowly changing shadows of the life around him. It was not until the shadows of the tall leaf reached his foot did he decide Hunk was not going to arrive. 

Keith again reaches their shared abode, and tears off his cloak. His insides feel twisted and unknown. Why hadn’t Hunk come? He always came.   
Keith’s thoughts swam, and he half expected Shiro to be inside.   
To his surprise, the warrior is strapping his training shield to his arm behind the small hut. 

“Hunk was not there today.” He voices mildly, startling the man.   
Keith notices his stiff shoulders, his hands clenched around his sword so tightly his knuckles turn into a ghostly white. All signs of Shiro’s growing anger.  
“You would not happen to know why?” Keith asks, crossing his arms. 

“He’s getting married,” Shiro’s voice is firm, and unwavering. He makes his first move.  
“I would not anticipate any more letters.” He gripes, he is struggling to be strong in front of Keith, it’s pathetic. Keith can’t help but show his displeasure. 

“How did you learn of this?” He asks skeptically.   
Shiro grunts as he delivers a killing swipe of his sword across a defenseless oak growing through the tangles of other trees.

“A meeting with the generals. Athen’s is building an alliance with Thebes and expanding its military. We are to be on high alert of rising tension within Athens.” Shiro explains with more strokes, and reckless formations.  
“He didn’t, even, bother, to tell me, that he, found, another, lover.” Shiro punctuates each word with a swipe of his sword, and a beat to the dummy’s head with his shield.   
Keith sighs, watching the elder man hurt.  
“I should have known better than to trust that...malakas. Athenian whore.” Shiro mutters darkly. Keith can see the anguish and pain in Shiro’s features. 

To learn of your lover’s infidelity through your general. 

Keith straps on his own shield. He knows of this behavior. Shiro will fight until he can’t fathom being upset over the ache in his body, and the fatigue clouding his thoughts. You learned young that men bared no weakness in the face of hard times.

 

Lotor’s stay was drawn out, as the pre-marriage rituals were prepped. Last minute, Lance’s mother had decided to arrange the marriage at the end of the week. 

Fall was coming, and Sparta had caught wind of their intentions. She did not like the odds of Sparta launching an attack in this crucial intermission.   
Of course, a winter wedding would have been ideal, but time was ticking, and moving to Thebes in the blistering cold was not ideal for the Queen’s son. 

The duo spent a considerable amount of time together, always chaperoned by an elite, or most awkwardly, Lance’s father. 

The prince could not deny Lotor’s benevolent nature. He was genuine, took Lance’s overly comfortable, and snide comments in stride.   
He did not disregard Lance’s boundaries, but never strayed far from his side. 

Some would be beside themselves at Lotor’s plush doting of the uninterested Lance. He became a sympathy joke of the maids. 

They’d seen plenty of unfortunate people fall victim to Lance’s beauty, but none had ever held so much control over him and chose not to take advantage of it. 

The wedding was upon them before Lance knew it. He had worshipped for hours, had many large feasts in their honor. He’s sit next to Lotor, and joke with his father while his husband contentedly watched him. 

Before Lance knew it, he was watching servants pack his personals on mules. Hunk stands besides him. 

Lance’s latest letter to Shiro is sloppy and rushed, clutched in Hunk’s hands.   
“If you take the letter, I will not see you again.” Lance whispers. Hunk nods. 

“Should I not?” Hunk asks. Lance opens his mouth to reply, but Lotor’s hand on his back startles him. He turns to the man coming to stand besides him. 

“Are you almost ready, my love?” He purrs happily. Lance’s gut wrenches. 

 

Lance’s departure is full of tears, and choked I love you’s. Allura cried the most, gripping Lance tight to her chest as she shook and weeped. 

They would see each other again, in a few years. By then, Allura would also be in her husband’s home. If all was well, she would have children as well. 

 

The departure played out slowly. Lance felt like was watching himself in Lotor’s dark wood carriages move down the path out of the city. Lotor sits besides him, lacing his fingers with Lance. 

Lance cannot bring himself to emote back to his husband. He can hear the horses carrying servantry behind them. Hunk was among them. That was something. 

Lance clenches his fingers into a tight fist as the horses lazily pull them away from the city he was birthed, and raised. He inhales through his nose, releasing a shaky breath from his lips. Lotor was kind, thank Olympus for that. However, it did nothing to assuage Lance’s ever growing list of closet skeletons.   
How would hunk manage the two day trek to Sparta?   
How is Shiro? How will he react after hearing the news?   
What is Athens destiny? What will become of Sparta in the war?

“Excited, my Prince? I have a wonderful honeymoon planned after the festivities.” Lotor chirps, reaching for his lover’s hand. He laces their fingers, brushing his thumb over Lance’s boney knuckles in a soft, repetitive motion.   
It vaguely helps. 

“Hardly the word I would choose.” Lance admits, if there was one thing Lance had grown fond of, it was his opinion was always highly validated by the Prince. It made Lance feel important, righteous. 

“Once we arrive, take all the time you need to grow comfortable.” Lotor’s smile is stark white against dark skin. Lance nods numbly.   
Lotor’s compassion, and looks are wasted on a man that does not love him in return. 

“Do you wish to take concubines, my lord? It is not unknown I cannot give you an heir.” Lance asks, a flutter of hope clings to him that possibly, Lotor will. If Lotor possess them, it is only fair Lance do as well.   
But, Lotor’s face twists. His lips turn down, and his eyebrows sink at the mere suggestion. 

“Why would you suggest that?” The question is genuine, laced with confusion. Lance opens his mouth to find an answer- but his tongue rests.   
“Lance, I have no interest in being with anyone other than you.” 

Damn him. For being cunning, smooth, and genuinely caring for Lance. He's never had a suitor that has cared about the Lance underneath his looks. Everyone wanted a pretty face and his title.   
Lance feels valued and confused by the thoughtful gestures that make his stomach churn, and ache with the weight of a heavy stone in his heart. Guilt rampages whenever he finds himself drawn into Lotor’s kindness-   
Was he betraying Shiro?   
Yet- Lance feels so wrong to hurt and deny such a pure man happiness.   
Was he cruel to Lotor?  
What did he want? What was right for his family? Was he a good husband? A bad lover?

Perhaps, from Lotor a platonic need emerges, like when Hunk tightly wraps him in warm hugs and sincere kisses. Cooing and doting, letting Lance’s worries be smoothed over by the currents. Exposing polished sand in it’s wake. 

“I apologize.” Lotor tracks, letting the tension run off like thawing ice.   
“As of recently, our neighboring kings have been taking concubines from across the nation. I simply assumed you would want one as well.” Lance covers up, smiling softly at his husband. Lotor draws his hand up and rests it upon Lance’s tan cheek, returning the smile he was given. 

“Trust me, my dearest. You are the only one within my heart, and bed. There is nobody like you.” Lotor drags his thumb across Lance’s cheek before resting his hand back against the carriage. Despite the sudden decline in the Prince’s mood, Lance smiles. At least he finds comfort in Lotor. 

“What if.. I wish to take one?” Lance’s blue eyes move from his tunica, to Lotor. Assessing his reaction curiously. Lotor’s eyes are stormy with hurt, he draws away from Lance, and collects himself. 

“If it is your wishes, whatever will keep my desert flower in bloom.” Lotor smiles sadly, and Lance’s heart is surrendered to the bearing weight of his guilt. 

The newly weds journey falls on two warm days, and they stop in a small city only a day from Thebes to rest and replenish. 

Lance catches himself enjoying Lotor’s company. Seated with him at dinner, listening to his humorless jokes, and brushing his fingers through his long hair before they slept. 

Lotor did not ask anything of Lance that night. They spoke, prepared for bed, and snuggled in for a chilly night. Lance remembers the nights he spent with Hunk in his bed, fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“My husband, there is someone I would like to write when we arrive in Thebes. Will you grant me a private carrier?” Lance asks. Lotor shifts, and his arms wrap around Lance’s torso.   
His voice is low, and slurred. Barely awake at this point.  
“Anything, my dear. Restful night.” He murmurs. Lance smiles, finding his small flicker turn to a flame. 

He would speak to his love again soon. It was only a matter of time.


	4. IV

As soon as the newly weds enter the citadel, Lance can't help but feel a harrowing emptiness.  
Unlike his warm, and homely city-state, The Galra palace was melancholy and industrial.  
The servants greet him with cold eyes, dull and downcast away from his face. His items make their way up along with himself. This polis was much bigger than Athens. It’s foot army is massive, by the looks of the barracks down the hillside; but its naval is weak. Athens triumphs king of the sea above even Persia.  
The citadel itself is massive with larger rooms, all intricately designed and decorated. Fierce Galra victories are carved into the stone walls, and commemorated in statues of their dwelling.

With how many bloodthirsty battles decorate the walls, you'd think the family had been ruling for tens of thousands of years. Lance was mildly surprised to find so many stories of Zarkon’s rule alone.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Lotor leans into his ear. His hands settle low on his hip, now that Lance was not under his parent’s roof. Lance spares him a side glance.

“I do not think that is quite the word I would use.” Lance chides. Lotor chuckles, despite the bite to his husband’s voice.

“No worries, my husband. Soon enough, we'll have our own walls decorated with stories of our victories.” Lotor promises, pulling Lance close to him. It is supposed to soothe the newlywed but instead, his spine is wrought with shivers of dread.

“Sir, your chambers are ready.” A servant squeaks, beckoning the two follow. She escorts them to previously, his fathers’ room.

The tapestry and decor has been changed, leaving behind a musky smell of new silk and thread. Lance’s stomach drops into his organs, and dread fills its place.

The bed is adorned with intricate, symbolistic silks. A gift. Blessings for fertility. Lance would not have kids, but he’s still expected to sleep with Lotor, relinquish the last intimate part to the man who would own him the rest of his days.  
Shiro comes to mind. His smile, and easy personality. Lance will have nothing to give him. Shiro won't want him anymore.  
Dread stirs up nausea in his stomach, and he focuses on the stone floor in a struggle to keep himself composed.

“My dear, pardon my haste but last night you agreed to let me send letters by private messenger. I would like to..” he hesitates.  
“Clear my head, part with any lingering thoughts I forgot to tell my family.” Lance smiles sweetly to his husband, and Lotor easily swoons.

“Yes, of course, my love. I will be back to retrieve you before dinner. The tour, and welcoming can wait until tomorrow.”  
The prince leans in to kiss his bride’s cheek, leaving Lance with his servant. A lean, almond eyed girl with chocolate hair and a hard stare.

Lance trains his gaze on her as soon his chambers door closes.

“You breathe a word of my affairs to Prince Lotor, and I shall ruin you.” Lance threatens, the maid smiles.

“Of course, your highness.” Lance instantly deflates, and smiles in return. All hostility gone.  
The prince settles at an extravagant desk with ink and fresh papyrus the maid fetched for him.  
Lance messily jots down everything and anything he can tell Shiro. His anxiety is building and coiling in his chest. What if Lotor walks in right then? Caught him. Punished him. So early in the marriage, he’d surely withdraw his armies from Athens and they would be once again weaker.  
The letter.  
He starts with the wedding, woke early, and wedded by evening. He does not spare any detail of how he loves his Spartan so much more than this Galran prince.  
He talks of traveling, how his letters to his Spartan lover will take two days longer, now that Lance is in Thebes.  
Finally he gets to his husband. The word sits on Lance’s tongue like a bitter green goo.  
The prince tells Shiro everything about Lotor, how well he's treated so far. The prince is malleable, and it is the only reason Lance has been able to write Shiro. Tonight is his honeymoon, but his heart flutters for Shiro. Lance ends his letter with a promise, a promise to keep himself pure for the man he loves most. He would not bend to Lotor’s wishes.

He signs his letter intricately. He touches a small rock pendant tucked under his clothes. With a yank, he snaps the chain and wraps it around the rolled papyrus in place of his usual blue silks.

“Fetch my companion. He traveled here with me.” Lance orders. The woman leaves hurriedly, lips drawn in a tight line. She could not help but pity the prince. Both of them, really. Once alone, Lance takes in his surroundings with a shaky breath. It's hard for him to come to terms with his new life, yet it has only just begun.

 

Lance’s mother booms with laughter at all the treaties she has received from neighboring city-states, all seeking to find some sort of alliance with the buffed Athens.  
Word of the merger between Thebes and Athens spread, and many states scrambled to make good ties before they were conquered.

“My king, look at this! Do you see the power we now hold? Once their bond is complete and we have access to their military, we will certainly be a force to reckon with!” The queen beams.

Power is a maddening substance.

“Of course my love, whatever makes my precious gem sparkle.” The king hums in response, caressing his wife’s cheek tenderly. She smiles at the soft gesture.

“Every city-state that ruined our good name, I want them.” She whispers, the king simply nods in response, understanding very well what it takes to keep his wife happy.

The first to succumb to their power is Mykonos, the city-state is brought to its knees by Athen’s navy alone. The tax forced upon them in a vengeful fit from the queen brought many luxuries to the royal family of Athens.

From there the Queen only wants more, and who was the King if he could not even please his darling wife.

 

Shiro sits with Spartan generals as they speak of Athen’s growing hostilities. The city of art and intelligence seems to have lost its touch. Resorting to vengeful, and barbaric measures. Much of Greece has already succumbed to Athens, willing or not. Sparta is most definitely next.

Shiro and Keith return to the normal buzz of life, both with heavy hearts and dwindling hopes. Often, Keith caught Shiro reminiscing the letters Lance had sent him. Feeling the soft silk between his fingers.

Keith never said anything, just shut the door, walked away, closed his eyes. Let the man hurt in his own ways.  
But he couldn’t shake the feeling something was not right. Hunk had told him.  
Lance cannot evade marriage forever.  
He is a prince. Unlike Sparta, he is required, expected, forced the marry where it would benefit his family and city-state most.

Perhaps Lance did not want to marry. Perhaps Shiro’s fears have consumed all of the rationale in his being.  
Time will tell, and life goes on.

 

Lance and Hunk confer briefly throughout the day. Lance is able to work out getting Hunk a horse to travel with, and he is to leave in the night while Lance is with Lotor.  
Lance prays his letter reaches Shiro. Hunk will have to travel through Sparta.  
It has been a couple weeks since their last letters, he would not expect Keith to keep returning for letters that never come. Traveling would prove to be dangerous, and Lance makes sure to chastise his friend about being careful.  
Lance would never forgive himself if Hunk sustained any damage while assisting him.

“Please be careful, Hunk.” Lance presses as Hunk saddles up the horse.

“Your highness! Quick, quick! Prince Lotor is looking for you!” Nyma, the dark-haired maid now dutifully working alongside Lance whispers rushedly.

“I will help him, hurry.” She says, shooing Lance. Lance looks to Hunk, worry swimming in his blue hues.  
“Be well, my good friend. I will pray for you.” He says, turning to leave. Making his way slyly to the castle.

Lotor grins upon eyeing his beauty.  
“You called for me, my husband?” Lance offers a modest smile in response to Lotor’s pleased smile. The Athenian prince has dipped into his diplomatic side; shoulders squared, chin high, and every movement with purpose.

“Yes. It’s nearly dinner, my love. Afterwards, we shall enjoy our honeymoon.” Tremors clang down Lance’s spine, but he smiles wider and accepts his husband’s arm.  
He knew what this meant the moment they were wed. Lotor would be his, and in turn he would be Lotor’s. They would share the same bed and unite together. Despite Lance’s ability to avoid it, he knew he could not evade Lotor forever.  
Tomorrow, breakfast would be loaded with questions and excited chatter of their marriage completion.

“Yes.. Of course.” Lance hums. He strolls alongside Lotor to the dining room. it's cleared, and reset to it’s original state. Slaves, and workers set out the two’s meal with preciseness. The king and queen had previously ate here, their schedule left the two princes independent.

For tonight, they'd be alone in this wing of their home. The hall had been reduced to a few maids and servants for tonight's events, but otherwise the only company they had was each other.

“Are you excited?” Lotor asks, trying to spark up a new conversation over dinner. Lance only looks up when Lotor catches his attention.

“Of course I am.” Lance lies, right through his teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching under the table to air out sweaty palms. Lotor frowns at his husband’s actions, perhaps lying to the silver tongued Galra heir was not entirely smart.

“You do not seem very excited.” Lotor voices after a short pause, he has no bite to his words. Rather, a tone of understanding.

Lance busies himself eating, if he’s got food in his mouth, Lotor cannot ask him questions and expect answers.  
Lance’s tummy hurts when he finally decides to let up on the charade, pushing his plate away in turn of watching Lotor, who still beat him by a landslide.  
Lotor gives Lance a dopey grin when their eyes meet, and Lance feels a surge of guilt curl under his skin. Lotor’s eyes are brimming with all the softness and grace a proud husband should show. Lance is not immune to the wear that beats down on him in attempt to keep up a happy facade.

“Satisfied, my love? You’re quite the light eater.” Lotor stands, pulling out Lance’s chair as maids scurry over to begin collecting the remains.  
For once, Lance allows Lotor to lace their fingers, no longer drawing his hand away in discomfort.

“A proper prince has impeccable self control, and poise in Athens.” He says, feeling a little homesick at the mention of his glorious city.

“Let us be on our way, then.” Lotor’s enthusiastic pace brings them to the royal chambers quicker than Lance would like.  
Lotor opens the door for Lance, a look of pure, excited anticipation. Lance is not sure he shares Lotor’s enthusiasm.

The spread is laid out, adorned with intricate silks, and colors. The most predominate color, blue. Stark against the deep reds and purples of the decor. Flower petals litter the bed and floor, a platter of scented oils sits comfortably near the bed, and a decorated candle bathes the room in a soft glow.

Lance closes his eyes, imagining Shiro’s tender hands resting heavily on his shoulders, easing the tension from him..

“Do you like it?” Lotor asks, his glee is almost infectious had Lance’s guilt not suffocated it deep within him. Lance swallows thickly, his spit suddenly feeling more viscous than it is.

“Yes, it’s- It’s so thoughtful.” He really does love everything, the silk, the sweet smells filling the room- His favorite color, laid out specifically for him.  
A familiar sensation washes over Lance. Fright. He’s bombarded with nostalgic memories of plenty of touch-and-go lovers. Running from commitment at every turn. This time, he couldn't run.

Lotor slowly urges him towards the bed, hand low on his hip. He places a gentle kiss along Lance’s temple.

“You are awfully quiet. Have I upset you?” Lotor asks, eyebrows raising in concern. For a moment time pauses. Lance contemplates his options. The prince has half a brain to shut his mouth, and open his legs like the marriage advisor had put it. He’d make his family proud, and please his lover. He’d finalize the deal between Thebes and Athens. He’d help his city, his people.

Shiro comes to mind. His dark hair, and benevolent smile. The way he spoke to Lance, the way he curved all his letters prettily to impress Lance.

“I can’t.” Lance blurts, hands suddenly sprawled across Lotor’s chest. He turns his head away, expecting his husband’s outburst.

“What ails you, my love? I cannot mend what is not known to be broken.” Lotor’s deep voice is desperate, heavy, and worried. Lotor tips Lance’s chin up, trying to catch his gaze.

Lance squeezes his eyes shut.  
“My heart belongs to a man of Sparta.” He forces out, like a stone he’s carried through Sparta in his heart. Weighing him.  
Lotor waits for Lance to stop shaking—Is he shaking?  
The Prince steadies himself.  
“We met when I was 16. I cannot give myself to you. It is the only thing I have left for him. I refuse to will your heart pain that is escapable.”  
Lotor wraps the man in strong arms, cradling Lance as if he’d shatter.

“Lance. I am so sorry. I was blinded by my affections and took no knowledge of your obvious discomfort. Please forgive my arrogance.” Lance appreciates the finality in Lotor’s voice. It’s loud, and tangible. Lance feels grounded for the first time since he left home.

“I understand now. Although your heart is with another, mine is with you. Your smile is all I could ever ask of you.”  
Lotor grunts when Lance pushes himself into Lotor’s warm neck, arms thrown around his neck.

“Thank you. I-“ Lance sniffles, and meets Lotor’s soft golden eyes.  
“I could not have asked for a more wonderful companion.”.

“I have always desired to be burned by the fire that is the Prince of Athens. There are plenty of housewives elsewhere.”  
The two separate, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bed.

They talk.  
Lotor is goofy, and compassionate and Lance would have never known.

“Thank you, Lotor.” Lance mutters, peering up at his newfound companion. He smiles freely, feeling a cage that had entrapped his soul finally open and crumble away. The dust lost to the vacancy of Lance’s body.

“Of course. You look worst than Hades himself. Get some sleep, we have nothing but time.” Lotor coos. He blows out the droopy candles and gathers up a large throw. Lance watches him.

“You’re welcome to your own bed, my Prince. Surely, now you don't think I bite all the sudden?” Lance teases. He burrows under the layers of fabric, and Lotor sheepishly joins him.

“You are not uncomfortable?”  
“A river can change its course, so can I.” Lance assures him. Lotor is pleased to see the flame that the prince earned for himself begin to flourish once again.

Lotor pretends to be asleep when Lance wiggles himself under Lotor’s arm, tucked against his chest.

  
The sun floods the dark toned room, rousing Lotor. Lance remains undisturbed while Lotor freshens up. Even as maids bring him clothes, and fuss over the sleeping prince.  
Lotor meant to wait for Lance to wake- He truly did, but hunger won in the end and he made his way to the kitchen.  
Much to his dismay, he crosses paths with his father in one of the extravagant corridors; large royal purple tapestries drape the limestone and marble walls, the wainscoting depicts righteous battles, and tales of their beloved Gods.

“My son,” his father greets him with an indifferent nod.  
“You look rather elated. Was the Athenian prince to you satisfaction?” Zarkon questions, raising an eyebrow expectantly.  
Lotor knew his father was waiting for Lotor to give sign of displeasure. He knew his father would take, and continue to take. Damn his son’s marriage if it meant more power to the city-state.  
Lotor, an exact opposite of his father, smiles. He will protect Lance to his dying breathe. Forever.

“Everything is in order, fret not. He is exceptional.” Lotor promises with a sly grin. Perhaps him and his father both compete in the art of lying.

“Good news, good news. I will send word to Athens. Rouse your husband, today is a day to celebrate. We are clansmen, comrades, and family today.” Zarkon announces. His demeanor betrays the uplifting words leaving his mouth. Lotor chuckles, and bows in a slight.  
Zarkon continues down his hall, gait like a prowling beast ready to take a bite out of any passerby unlucky enough to set him off.

Lotor sighs, shoulders slumping. He pushes his way into the kitchen, the bustling of early morning cooks, and the smell of fresh bread and pork makes his stomach hurt.  
For now, his beautiful wilting flower is safe so the Prince will eat.

 

Hunk cannot physically recede into himself and his horse anymore. Observing the Spartan landscape, he manages to travel across the lands without fail.. One issue, he has yet to find Keith or Shiro.  
The village houses are all closely packed, and bustling. People bustle around despite the chilly winds, and blinding sun.  
Searching for Shiro’s home is harder than he anticipated, and Hunk shakes himself for thinking it’d be a path lined with hunky men leading straight to Shiro’s home.  
The servant feels the dread of sleep weigh his eyelids but Hunk is a sheep among wolves. Sleep would be foolish.

The heafy man makes a stop at the square for water and a break. He stretches his legs, and asks around.

Some men smirk at the name of Sachihiro, others shake their head and eye Hunk strangely. No one seemed to know where he lived.

Hunk plops down next to an old wily man sorting through his bags of grain. Hunk is intrigued by the Amber hair that decorated his head and lip. His mustache is thick much like other Spartan men.

Hunk rubs his face to regain focus, causing the man to chuckle.  
“Whas’ ailing you, my boy?” He asks, turning towards Hunk. He decides to humor the elder.

“I am searching for a man. It is important I find him, I have a letter from his lover.” Hunk says, whispering as if it was a secret. The man seems snared in Hunk’s flashy story.

“Yeah? Was’ his name?” The man asks, eyeing the square.  
“Sachihiro. I’ve heard from my companion he is a warrior.” Hunk says. Hope runs wild through his veins at the man’s surprised features.

“Him? A lover? Hah! What a man.” Hunk must look entirely starstruck, the man howls with laughter.

“You know of him?” He asks, shocked. What were the odds?

“Everyone in Sparta knows of our champion, ‘es a very important general. Leads with an iron fist, ‘at one.” The man twirls his short, amber beard around his calloused fingers.

“Right. Do you know where he lives?” Hunk prayed the man could offer something tangible. He had no leads to follow.

“Sure do, kid. ‘E lives wi’ a tyrant tha’ the barracks kicked out ages ago. No one knows wha ‘e did.”  
Hunk suddenly feels supercharged at the prospective information.  
“They both like ‘eir privacy. Pas’ town, o’er the hill due south you’ll find ‘eir lil’ home.”

“Thank you, thank you so much! May the Gods favor you!” Hunk cries, the man smiles and waves Hunk off.  
“Yeah, yeah. Run along, kid. Ease tha’ poor man’s heart already.” He chuckles.

Hunk lifts himself onto the horse's back, tipping his head to the man before continuing on his journey.

His home rests along the beginnings of the orchard, nestled in the shade out of the noise of the busy city.

Hunk could imagine Lance, warming the house with fresh bread while Hunk harvested olives and corn.  
Shiro and Keith could come home to a cozy scene, food and a loving family. No more arranged marriages, no more extravagant clothes and strenuous mannerisms. No more long letters, and brief meetings.  
He could dream, couldn’t he?

“Sachihiro?!..” Hunk calls, tethering his horse to a low hanging branch. The mare bows her head to graze in the cool shade.  
“Keith?!” Nothing.  
Maybe that hermit didn't know what he was talking about.  
Maybe Hunk is bothering a poor family by yelling names at their front door.

Smooth.

Hunk gives up, reapproaching his horse when the door creaks open.  
Hunk turns to apologize to the curious homeowner.

“Hunk?” Keith stands, in a worn tunic and bare feet. Hunk stares, shocked. His heart thrums.  
He hadn’t realized how much he missed the Spartan.

“Keith! Oh thank god- I thought I arrived at the wrong house.” Hunk smiles, bouncing back over to the door. Keith bristles, looking Hunk up and down.

“You're- By Zeus- You're actually here? Hunk, what are you thinking?!” Keith scolds. He impatiently herds Hunk into Shiro’s home.  
Keith’s head is swimming with questions.  
Where has he been? Was he okay? How did he find them? How did he cross into Sparta undetected? How long has he been traveling? Keith snuffs out the arising noise, and eases the Athenian into their untidy living room.  
Hunk is a large man; built like a warrior, born to be a lover. His tense shoulders sag as he removes his heavy traveling cloak.

“I apologize for arriving with no notice, but is Sachihiro around?” He asks, withdrawing a scroll from his satchel.

“No. He’s in a meeting with the Senate. I thought you were him returning until I heard you call for us.. Is that from Lance?” Keith gestures to the scroll in Hunk’s hand. Hunk nods, and Keith smiles when their hands touch.  
“Shortly after Lance’s marriage, Shiro caught wind of the arrangement. I knew he wasn’t getting the full story, but he was quick to break down. Perhaps you can talk some sense into his senseless head.” Keith sighs, laying the scroll out on the table for Shiro.  
Where he always read them.

“I see. The Prince had no choice. He was married quickly, and lives in Thebes now with the Pri- King of Thebes. He hardly gets away from the man.” Hunk explains, a yawn drowning out the last of his sentence. Keith looks over his friend’s frame, seeing dark circle encase his lively eyes.

“You look like you'd been dragged through Cocytus (river of lamentation) and back. When was the last time you slept?” Keith asks. Hunk chuckles nervously, rubbing his nape with newfound shyness.

“Not since I left Thebes. It's been about three days. I couldn't possibly risk sleeping out in the open.” Hunk admits with a bashful smile. The sleepy haze in his eyes clearly evident.

“Goddess..Off to bed you go then. We can speak when Shiro comes home. Go on!” he scolds. Keith offers his bedroom to Hunk. He fusses like a wife, making Hunk’s ears burn through his sleep delirium.

“Thank you, Keith.” The man yawns, entering the small room of Keith’s. It is plain, a few weapons hung on display, and a large, red tapestry to cover the old walls.

“I shall come wake you when Shiro arrives.” Keith restates. Hunk smiles with a gentle nod.

“May the Gods be on your side,” Hunk coos. Keith flushes a gentle pink from radiating warmth of Hunk’s smile.

“You are always welcome to our hospitality. I'll be around if you need anything.” The door squeaks closed with a gentle click, and Hunk is alone.  
He takes a moment to survey the details of the room before removing his shoes, and layers to climb comfortably into the bed.

It smells like Keith, and Hunk feels unusually at ease. Sleep drags at him relentlessly.  
Hunk prays Lance is okay, and he is happy despite his predicament before he buries his nose in the homey smell of Keith and catches up with sleep.

  
Hunk rises to angry shouts reverberating off the soft walls. A second voice- far too deep and matured to be Keith’s. Perhaps Shiro has returned.  
Hunk gathers himself up, before stepping softly into the hall. He can make out a shadow towering over Keith’s around the corner. Hunk decides to wait for an opening.

“I don’t want to ever hear that name again. I don’t care what’s written, I‘m no fool Keith!” Shiro growls, refusing to accept the scroll Keith was extending to him.  
Keith grits his teeth. Patience yields focus. Ironic, isn't it?

“You are an adult, aren’t you? A major general, and important Senate body. Grow up, and take a look at it!” Keith snaps.  
“I’m serious.”

“Oh hi ‘serious!’ I’m Not-Reading-That-Traitors-Letters.” Keith stares Shiro down in a dangerous silence.  
“The damn brat probably just heard from his husband of our seige and wants to woo me into retreating, and negotiating a treaty in order to protect his beloved state. Not happening. I will not fall victim to his malevolence again.” Shiro says with finality.

“You’re starting a war?” Hunk moves around the corner, pale as a ghost. Shiro looks surprised, and Keith whips around startled by his guest.  
Shiro’s gaze turns to Keith, agitated.

“Who is this?” Shiro gestures to Hunk with his metal arm.

“Hunk. He is Lance’s messenger and came from Thebes to deliver this to you.” Keith snips, forcing the scroll into Shiro’s hands. Shiro scowls at the roll tied with a chain rather than the prince’s blue silk. The ocean blue pendant is heavy in his hands.  
Shiro’s heart aches, and he closes his eyes for a second.  
“Good, take the letter back to Thebes. Tell Lance his letters are delivered to a man who is blind to them. It would be a waste of his time to send any more.” He hands Hunk the letter, gaze hard and set.  
He is gone before Hunk can object.

Keith lets put a yell of frustration, startling Hunk.  
“He is the most insufferable warrior I’ve ever met!” Keith fumes. Hunk almost laughs at Keith’s hotheadedness. It’s cute how he gets so worked up on Hunk’s behalf.

Hunk lays a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, and he deflates.  
“He is hurt. Somewhere, he began believing Lance didn’t love him anymore. He’s only trying to protect himself. Now, please inform me of this attack on Athens?”

The two resettle at the old, rickety table in their small kitchen. Lance’s letter sits in front of Shiro’s spot.

“Word of the military alliance traveled quick, and the Senate ruled a counterattack before Athens had a chance to rally Thebes army. It’s no secret Athen’s navy is impenetrable, with Thebes’ foot soldiers, we’d be ravished.” Keith explains with a heavy sigh.  
“It was Shiro who convinced the Senate. He’s become quite vengeful. I pray the Gods show mercy on his turbulent soul.”

Hunk easily gathers Keith into his side, arm wrapped carefully around Keith’s thin frame. Hunk is sure he is more comforted by the warmth than Keith.

“He must read the letter. Everything is there, he will come to understand- Lance deserves at least that much after all that's been happening.” Hunk says, keeping his emotions under tight wraps.  
“Should I try speaking with him now?” Hunk stands, turning to look out the window. He can see the warrior survey his sword, before beginning to rework his skills.

Keith turns his head away at the sight of Shiro’s pain.  
“He wouldn't listen if Zeus himself came to knock some sense into him. He’ll be tired, and pliant when he comes in for dinner.”  
Keith moves to tidy up the neglected home. He speaks to Hunk as he cleans.  
“Did you get enough rest? I'm sorry for waking you so soon.” He says softly.

“I feel quite refreshed, thank you. Perhaps, I can cook. A peace offering to the lovesick.” Hunk chuckles. Keith doesn’t catch the smile curling onto his face. Hunk likes that smile.

Hunk had always been Lance’s right hand servant. Wherever Lance went, Hunk went with. From the moment he was old enough to be brought into servantry he worked for the elite. He watched Lance grow into the man he is now.  
Of course, that did not stop him from pursuing his own passions. Cooking.  
He’d make extravagant meals, and desserts for the royal children.  
Lance always preferred the sweets; Allura was more refined, and picky.

“Smart move, my friend. A man’s weakness will always be his stomach. I am no exception.” Keith chuckles.  
Keith would not have assumed Hunk could cook.  
He also did not anticipate the soldiers coming over the hill with official drafts for Keith and Shiro as Sparta dispatched its first brigade in the early night. On a set course for Athens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot: aye get a peeps at Coran in this chapter.


	5. V

Shiro glowers at the scroll sitting harmlessly before his seat, mocking him. He glares at Keith. 

 

“I thought I said I wasn't going to read it.” The man complains, despite placing himself in front of the papyrus. He eyes it almost frightfully. Keith shrugs, sweeping the dust out of their home. 

 

“I didn't say anything. Just left it there.” He shrugs as he puts the broom away. He catches Shiro fiddling with the pendant’s stone on the papyrus when he thought no one was looking. 

 

Keith’s heart goes out to the man. What kind of pain could have traumatized him into not wanting to find out the whole story? To deny he wanted anything to do with them ever again? 

 

“Who's cooking? It smells delicious.” Shiro asks, looking for a scapegoat out of the current conversation anyway he could. 

 

“Hunk. He was quite insistent on preparing a meal for us.” Keith seats himself across his companion, watching Shiro’s hands never leave the pendant. A part of Shiro still deeply missed his prince of blue, anyone could see. 

 

“I see. I didn't expect Lance to have such a diversely talented friend. You're lucky, Keith.” The man teases. Keith catches the jealous, bitter meaning. Keith’s eyebrows fall, and he eyes Shiro scoldingly. 

 

“Lance is smart. He makes good decisions, he is a diplomat afterall.” Keith watches as the hurt washes over his friend’s scarred face. 

 

“Yeah, I thought so too.” Shiro grumbles more to himself than anyone else. Keith leans across the table. 

 

“Shiro, I know you're hurting, but please. Maybe you should read what he has to say.” Keith presses, aching for the man to be rational. He's met with silence. Keith sits back, he throws his hands up. A new tactic might work.

 

“Perhaps you are right and Lance is writing to you to beg for a treaty,” -which he's not,- “wouldn't it be good to figure it out and be able to gloat about your victory?” Keith smirks at the petty gleam in stormy eyes. 

 

“Perhaps. After dinner I  _ might  _ skim it.” Shiro offers but Keith knows better. Keith knows if Shiro reads it, he'll hold on to every word of Lance’s like his life depended on it. 

 

“Who's hungry?” Hunk announces, placing two large, steamy plates in front of the men. Their eyes as wide as the plates. 

 

Hunk seats himself with his own plate, a large smiling on his dark face. He takes pride in their awestruck reactions. 

 

“Go ahead! I’d hate for it to get cold.” He teases. Shiro doesn’t hesitate. Keith smiles adoringly to Hunk. 

 

“Thank you. It looks amazing. You’ve certainly outdone yourself.” He coos, Hunk’s ears turn red. 

He turns to his food, scooping mountainous spoons of food to hide the blush that covers his cheeks. 

Keith and Shiro are next, and eat unreservedly, both ah-ing and groaning at the divine taste that dances across their buds. 

 

“Hunk, this is fantastic.” Shiro praises, Keith is continuously stuffing his face. 

 

“Slow down Keith, the bird is already dead! It cannot run away from you!” Hunk laughs at the sight of Keith with his face so full he can't speak. Shiro allows a small laugh to escape his lips. It’s been a long time since their home was so lively. 

 

“I can't help it. I'll never be able to eat Shiro’s cooking again. It’ll never be the same.” Keith praises once he's downed his bite. 

 

“It was my cooking that fed you for ten years when you were handed off to me for disciplinary issues.” Shiro scolds, Keith shrugs him off with a smirk. 

 

“Your cooking was nothing like this.” Keith argues, though Shiro does have a vague recall of a younger, scrappier Keith stuffing his face like so and praising Shiro’s well made kokoretsi. 

Shiro just smiles reservedly and tucks the memory away for safekeeping. 

 

“Alright, Keith.” Shiro sighs. In defense of his dignity, Hunk was an elite servant. He cooked for  _ royalty _ . Nothing short of perfection would be tolerated. 

 

“It's really nice finally getting to meet you, Shiro. I have been delivering your letters for years without properly getting to introduce myself.” Hunk comments, sparking up a new conversation. Keith stiffens, but Shiro is one step ahead and offers a warm smile. 

Hunk continues, eyes downcast at his meal. “Lance spoke so often of you, even before his wedding. He was always crying to me about how you'd react to the news. He wanted nothing more than to be wed to you instead of Lotor. I cannot recall how many prayers he sent anymore.” Hunk laughs, caught up in his reminiscence. Shiro’s lips pull into a deterred frown, lowering the spoon to his plate. Hunk looks up at the noise. 

 

“He was crying?” The information stirs something within him. Shiro can almost picture Lance’s blue eyes, brimming with tears, despairing over the Spartan warrior. 

It doesn't make him as happy as he thought it would. 

 

“He was restless. He was very torn. He could think of his people, or himself. But not both. He eventually gave in, of course, he didn’t really have much of a choice. The fire in him was put out completely.” Shiro rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The feeling of overwhelming guilt sat heavy in his stomach. He was not very hungry anymore. 

 

He couldn't imagine- the loud, and playful man he fell in love with suddenly a timid housewife. Lance was so much more. 

No man deserved to tame the wild in him. Not even Shiro. 

 

“Certainly- he's happy now. He is married to the soon-to-be King of the Galra empire.” Shiro counters, trying to convince himself Lance was alright. 

Lance was not his anymore. He wasn’t the boy from the festival, cute smiles and flirty words. 

He was a diplomat. With a husband and a duty. 

 

“Lotor is a fool in love, he cannot say no to Lance. From what I have heard, he’s quite benevolent next to his father.” Hunk explains, Shiro feels his grip tighten around his utensil. Hunk continues talking. 

“Lance does not look his way. He does not have the same passion I've witnessed in him when he wrote letters to you.” Hunk pushes, sizing up Shiro’s every reaction. Hope glimmers in the stormy eyes. Hunk is growing impatient. 

 

Somewhere along the way, Shiro convinced himself Lance no longer loved him. 

When things were dry in his life, Lance was his oasis. Lance, who wore his emotions unreservedly on flawless, caramel skin, showed no passion for his newlywed husband? 

 

It was jarring. Shocking. 

 

Shiro dismisses Hunk’s story. “Give it time, he’ll adjust to his new husband. If Lotor is as kind as you say, he'll warm rather quickly to the man.” 

 

Hunk abruptly stands, knocking the table and disrupting the things upon it. 

Both Spartans look surprised. 

 

“That is quite enough! For a man who loves Lance, you do not show it. How can you say these things? I tell you of his woe yet all you can muster is venomous and passionless excuses.” Hunk barks, a look of pure anger across his gentle features. 

 

“Your words are weightless. You say he’s unloyal, aloof yet you turn your back to him at the slightest turbulence. You’re Medusa, Sachihiro. Afraid to look in the mirror and realize you are making everything worse. Your ugliness will turn you to stone.” He fumes, excusing himself rashly from the table. 

 

“Hunk, wait!”

The door jars shut with a deafening slam. Keith is next to leave the table, hurrying after Hunk. 

 

Shiro is left awestruck at the table, the air suddenly cold and mocking around him. He stares down at his plate. 

The food is suddenly lackluster, and bitter to him. 

 

Shiro does not understand what distracted Lance for so long, that he had written to Shiro so late! Why has it taken him so long?

Certainly, he would have written sooner if he truly had something urgent to tell. Such as, the marriage. 

Yet, even his own companion was siding with the prince. The very athenian prince Keith had never been fond of. 

 

Shiro scowls, the silent papyrus mocks him.

The spartan’s resolve crumbles, and he unclasps the finely made jewelry. It is heavy, and cold. Too foreign to Lance’s usual light, gossamer silk. 

 

Shiro sits back, unraveling the thick stack of worn papyrus. The ink is carefully inscribed, and with each stroke, Lance’s emotion bleeds through. 

 

It stains, and infects Shiro’s hands, his blood and his heart. Guilt coils in him like a snake of prey. But he’s hanging onto his lover’s every word, scraping for a cent of redemption for his mouth, and vile feelings towards the benevolent prince. 

 

Outside Keith catches up to Hunk, his brows knit together in worry. Hunk’s face is red, eyes wet in frustration. It wasn’t like Hunk to lose his temper. Lance held a special place in his heart, and he cared deeply for the prince. Hunk couldn’t stand to watch his best friend care and love someone who was so intent on forgetting him. 

 

“Hunk, I’m sorry about Shiro.” Keith whispered, placing a comforting hand on the large man’s bicep. He deflates visibly.

 

“You are not the one who should be apologizing Keith, and I am not the one he should apologize to.” Hunk’s voice is mirthless, but calmer than before. Lance deserved so much more than what fate had given him. 

 

“This is the best I can do for now,” the dark-haired spartan settles. Hunk meets his eyes, and a light hearted grin appears on Keith’s face. 

 

The men settle in the sand, watching the stars expanse above them in a gentle silence. Hunk’s anger has dissipated, leaving a droopy demeanor in its wake. 

 

“We must convince Shiro to read Lance’s words.” Hunk says eventually, sitting up. His eyebrows set with a new determination. Keith cannot understand where the motivation had surged from. 

“I will not be leaving until I have a letter to return with.” Hunk says resolutely, kicking up sand in haste. 

Keith chuckles.

 

“Best to gather your belongings then, because I have read it. You’ll have my response tomorrow night. Thank you for the supper tonight, Hunk. I apologize for disrupting your meal.” Shiro leans on the door frame, arms crossed lazily over his chest.

 

Hunk and Keith are spooked by Shiro. They both twist to see him, before their eyes meet, mouths open in mutual disbelief. Hunk is the first to grin, and any memory of his distressed self was fleeting. 

 

He ambles to his feet and approaches Shiro, claps him on the back, and herds the two men back inside with a laugh. 

“I am thankful, let our meal not be spoiled! We may now celebrate!” He coos excitedly. Keith and Shiro are too enraptured by his infectious charisma to object. 


End file.
